Of Pancakes and Coffee
by OokamiHybrid
Summary: For TDKR meme/ He feels a little bit like an idiot, really, when he pulls down the black mug with the white Bat Symbol that judges him despite its chipped paint.


AN: Batman, wut. IDEK written for a prompt at the TDKR meme. No regrets, except I'm hoping desperately no one is way too out of character. Hopefully more TDKR fic to come.

Prompt - I'd love to see these two in a domestic situation, preferably with Bane making pancakes for Blake. I realize it's a bit out there but please no AUs, I want Bane to still be in the mask!

**Of Pancakes and Coffee**

He hears a quiet bang from the kitchen and jerks awake. Instinct has him reaching for the gun in his bedside table, but logic quickly catches up with his sleep-muddled brain and his arm goes limp, fingers dangling over the edge of the bed. Sure, someone could have broken into his flat – this is Gotham, reborn, but it is still Gotham – but from the cold feeling against his back, he knows anyone stupid enough to do so is already dead. The thought causes a soft pang of discomfort, deep in his chest, before he shrugs it off and slips from the sheets.

John searches in the dark for a shirt and pants, biting back shivers as Gotham winter air slips into the room, unwelcome but uncaring. He takes a moment to lean against the wall, rub the sleep from his eyes and will the dull, throbbing ache at the base of his spine, the curve of his arse, to settle down because yeah. It's way too early to be awake.

"Bane?" He calls, hesitant when he steps from the darkness of his bedroom into the muted sunlight of the living room. Some small part of his brain is rambling on about how he should move somewhere bigger, Bane practically takes up the whole damn apartment with his shoulders alone, and really, he's Bane, he can let them move wherever John wants and – shutupbrain, tired.

John thinks – knows – that since the destruction of Gotham he's probably – not probably, he has – lost one or two marbles from his usually meticulous collection. He hopes it's only temporary. He realizes too late, that lost in thought as he'd been, he hadn't listened for the masked man's response. John quiets himself, creeping forward on silent feet with his ears perk. The wave of relief that washes through him when the mechanic in, and out, of his lover – captor, boyfriend, tormenter? – breathing assures him that everything is okay.

He stops being quiet because quiet is a threat, and instead lets his feet smack soundly against the old floor boards as he heads into the kitchen. He has the feeling that even when he tries to be sneaky, Bane knows he's there anyway. At least this way, he keeps a little bit of self respect, even if he does sound like a miniature herd of elephants. "Did..." He trails off when he enters the kitchen, toes curling at the harsh cold of the linoleum. It's Bane that stops him in his tracks though.

The man doesn't so much as glance at him, tattered paper gripped between two massive fingers. He's not reading it anymore, merely holding it, his other hand lazily swirling creamy batter in a large blue mixing bowl. John watches him for a moment before slinking to the coffee pot, unsure of what to say.

The apartment really is small, and his arm brushes against a wall of muscle as he reaches for his cup – he feels a little bit like an idiot, really, when he pulls down the black mug with the white Bat Symbol that judges him despite its chipped paint. They may sleep together, live together, and apparently, they make breakfast for one another, but this is the one thing John will never, ever, compromise for, apologize for – and sets it on the counter.

The paper is resting beside the mug when Bane's hand curves over the back of his neck, thumb stroking along his jaw line. It soothes him, draws his attention in to the mountain of a man beside him. "I thought someone had broken in." He says absently, glancing up to see the faintest twinkle of amusement in blue-green eyes.

"No." Bane rasps, thumb pressing briefly to John's mouth before he goes to check the frying pan. Deeming it hot enough, he pours a ladle worth of batter into the centre.

John takes the moment to pour himself some coffee. He wants to offer a cup to the other man, but even after being together all this time – four months since the end of Gotham, and a few confusing weeks before that – he's still yet to see him unmasked.

"Just you then, huh?" He ventures, taking his place at the table. He sips the coffee, watching Bane over the edge of his mug.

The twinkle is back as the man turns to face him, needing only a sliver of attention directed at the stove to ensure that the pancakes don't burn. His eyes take in the bat symbol, gleaming just below John's mouth, and he wonders if his small lover even realizes how utterly sexy he is with his defiance. "I'm afraid to say," He starts "that I might be much more a threat than any petty burglar, officer Blake."

"Detective." John shoots back in the easy way they've had for a while now. It's a game, teasing each other while trying not to step on toes. He sets his mug aside and stands up, taking the half dozen steps to Bane. He has to crane his neck to see the man's face and is oddly pleased when Bane bows his head to make it easier for their eyes to meet. "And I dunno." He drawls. "You're a pretty big guy, but I think I could take ya." His hand curls over Bane's neck this time, fingers brushing against thick scars before he tugs.

The beast yields for him, bending further, and John's lips find the edge of the mask. He mouths at it, soft, knowing well the pulse of pure want that it stabs into the other man. His lips brush against the exposed skin on his cheek, under his eye. He feels, more than hears, the rumble of pleasure and smiles to himself, nostrils flaring. "Bane." He breathes.

Blue-green eyes open to full mast, lock on with his darker ones. His smile is getting bigger as he places one last kiss to the masks edge, easing away. "Your pancakes are burning." He breathes, a peel of laughter ripping from his chest as the other mans brow furrows and he curses – probably, John doesn't really know, whatever it is, it isn't English.

The ex-detective laughs and darts from the kitchen, making a hasty retreat to the bathroom. Bane's going to have to begin anew in the kitchen. He might as well clean up before breakfast.


End file.
